The Phantom and the Dancer
by RNDH
Summary: Story of Meg and Erik, wrote in short burst of fanciful musing. It's not the whole story, but meh.
1. Come with me

As the mob growled and shout angrily, tossing things around and moving frantically in search of the Phantom, Meg quietly stay out of their way, choosing to survey the room rather than joining in with the furious folks. Given their anger right now, she doesn't want to think about what most of them would do if they find him, but she knew for a fact that they will not be able to, not when he doesn't want to be found.

A boy rushed past her, happily picking up the small valuables and stuffing the gold coins into his pockets. A few others were also salvaging what they can while putting up the pretense of looking for the 'murderer'. Meg managed to not roll her eyes, but she did sigh. Well, people can't help being who they are, she supposed; and while she was not as poor as some of them, she does understand their situation. Hunger can drive people to thievery, not that she think she would go so far as stealing, but it's not like the Phantom will be needing those, and hopefully he wouldn't be as foolish as returning here after this place is exposed. She'd hate to see him come to harm.

The light from dozens of torches illuminates the rooms, reflecting off of the mirrors shards, making them glitters like the stars. Her mother had told her that the Phantom like mirrors, which was why she was not allowed to have one in her room, like Christine's. She had not question her mother, but she now wonder if her mother had purposely forbid Meg to have big mirrors because she wanted to protect her daughter. If so, did the Phantom already had his sight on Christine ever since she was a child, and her mother was only following his bidding; or did her mother knowingly set Christine up to be a victim of the Phantom? That thought troubled her, and Meg hope it was the former and not the latter, because she had thought that her mother love Christine as much as she love Meg.

Shaking her gloomy thoughts, Meg's attention was caught by a white object near one of the smashed mirrors, and she mindlessly picked it up. It was half of a mask, one that the Phantom wore. Meg frown, looking at the bare wooden frame, wondering why he had left it there. Christine had told her that the Phantom's face is monstrous, and that he wore the mask to cover his ugliness. Did he not care to cover his face up anymore? Is he roaming the street, scaring young children like a beast in some of the bedtime stories her mother told her when she was young? Somehow, she doubt that.

Realizing that she was staring into space like an idiot, Meg hold the mask against her side and turned to go back upstairs, leaving the people to make a bigger mess of the place. She needed to find her mother. There are a lot of questions running through her mind, and she would like answers.

The place was eerily quiet, as most of the staffs was down in the lair, the dancers and singers had fled for their life when the fire started. Thankfully, the fire was contained, leaving only the front area of the reception and the once well-decorated stage collapsed, the rest of the building was fine. Meg strolled down the empty hallway, resisting the urge to check Christine's room to see if the Phantom had done anything else while he was setting the place on fire. He is probably gone by now. Still, she hesitated in front of the door. Christine is not in there. Vicomte de Chagny - Christine's childhood sweetheart - had taken her away to safety a while ago, after rescuing her from the Phantom. They probably would be arranging a wedding soon, and Meg smile at the thought. She hope that they would invite her; after all, Christine and Meg had grew up together, and the two was like sisters.

Glancing back at the door, Meg bit her lower lip. Would the Phantom be in the room, mad that Christine did not choose him, or would he be grieving for the woman who would never be his? He had watched over Christine for a long time, the Angel of Music that Christine keep talking about as they were growing up. When she was young, Meg had thought Christine's Angel was her father in heaven, and as she grew up, she had thought him to be a figment of Christine's imagination borne out of loneliness. Meg had tried her best to be kind to Christine, sharing most of what she had with the other girl, but still, Christine had clung to the Angel. To be honest, Meg had felt a little jealous of the Angel, for - due to her youth - Meg had thought that Christine made the Angel up because Meg wasn't as good to her as Christine would have like. Even after their 15th birthday, Christine still believed in the Angel, and Meg was worrying for her sanity, though Christine had never do anything abnormal other than believing in her Angel, so Meg had let it slide.

That Christine gained the lead roles and invoke Carlotta's anger was the start of the mess, Meg thought. Her mother had said that Christine had been trained by a great tutor, thus giving the girl more credential and making Carlotta angrier. Carlotta had always acted superior to everyone else, and most of the time Meg ignored her; the diva, in turn, ignored Meg - not that she ever mind it much, because it kept them both out of each other's way. Meg had thought it was nothing but jealousy - though, in a way it was - but the accidents started, and Meg had asked her mother about Christine's Angel. She had told Meg to not worry about it, that the accidents are just accidents, and requested Meg to stop (as she had put it) 'overthinking' it. Meg only wish she didn't give into her mother's request so easily. Now, she intend to get the answers out of her mother.

Steeling herself, Meg turned away from the door, and proceeds toward her mother's room. Upon opening the door, Meg found her mother leaning back against the foot of the bed, crying as though she had lost something.

"Mother?" Meg called out, but the older woman paid her no mind, instead crying louder, her body shook by the sobs. Hurrying to her mother's side, Meg look for signs of blood or even an injury, for she had never seen her mother cried even once in all the time she was growing up. "Mother, you're scaring me, what is wrong?" She asked again after seeing that there is no wound.

"He's gone!" Her mother answered brokenly, still crying. "He promised me! That liar!"

"The Phantom?" Meg frowned. "What did he promised you?"

At her question, her mother look to her, tears soaked her face. "He promised!"

"What are you talking about, mother?" Meg took out her handkerchief, gently dabbing the tears.

"He couldn't have left." Madam Giry muttered. "All that work! He promised!"

"Mother, calm down." Meg was at a loss, not sure if she should be pressing her mother for answer when she was obviously too upset to make sense. Thinking back to the times that her mother had soothed her when she had a nightmare, or was ill, Meg put her arms around her mother, awkwardly rubbing her back at first, then simply hum the melody that she know by heart, the wordless song that her mother used to put her to sleep. After a while, Madam Giry quiet down, though Meg continues to hold her, still feeling the hiccups of the hysterical crying.

"I haven't forgotten." A deep voice echoed in the room, and a shadow loomed over the figures on the floor. Both of them look up. Meg was startled, but Madame Giry began to smile through her tears.

"Please, Monsieur!" The older woman urged, holding out a hand to him. The Phantom did not took the offered hand, but he nodded as he look to Meg.

"Come, we have a lot to do."

"What is going on here?" She asked, looking from the Phantom and her mother.

"Meg, go with the Monsieur, he'll take care of you." Her mother urged as she stood up. With quick movements that mean business, Madam Giry began to gather up Meg's meager clothing and tossed them onto Meg's bed. Taking up Madam Giry's cue, the Phantom rolled the clothes into a small bundle, and then tossed it to Meg.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you're planning." She said, putting her hands on her hips and try to look stern. Until a stray strand of hair fell onto her face.

Madam Giry smile as she withdrew a small leather pouch from a hidden drawer, and hold it out to Meg. "Take this with you, dear girl. It once belongs to my mother, your grandmother. Take good care of it, and yourself."

Confused, Meg took the pouch, but she didn't open it to see what's inside, afraid that if she does, then her mother would mistake it for her agreement to whatever they're doing. Yet, Madam Giry nodded; satisfied simply in the fact that Meg accepted the pouch from her, and Meg felt like she had sealed her fate. Madam Giry step closer, drawing her daughter into a hug that lasted longer than the Phantom's liking, for he clears his throat. Remembering that they have little time, Madam Giry let go of Meg, but not before she laid a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes were once again misty as she looks at Meg. "I always knew you are meant for something greater." She then turned her head to the Phantom and nodded. "You must go now, before they come back."

"What will you do?" The Phantom asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I'll think of something." Madam Giry waved her hands, as if his concern for her is unfounded. Erik inclined his head in understanding. Madam Giry is nothing but resourceful, but he does hope that she will not come to harm from her association with him.

"Are you out of your mind, Mother?" Meg blink, caught between wanting to yell at them and running for the door. They are mad, both of them. "You can't stay here alone. And where am I going with him? Isn't he dangerous?"

Erik chuckled at Meg's flabbergasted expression. "Worry not, child, the last thing I would ever do is hurt you."

Those words earned him a glare, but Madam Giry nodded. "He will give you the world, daughter."


	2. A New Place

Erik shift his body, leaning against a pillar as he waited for the ticket manager to ring up the total; out of the corner of his eyes, he watch as little Meg sat staring into space. She is probably sulking, or sad. Perhaps both. She had never been away from her mother for too long, and no doubt feeling lost; this trip is for her own good, but Erik feel a little guilty in tearing the young girl away from her mother. He is responsible for her now, in her mother's place, as it should be; yet he, too, feel the loss of his home, his friend…and Christine's.

Erik clenched his fingers, anger and pain warring each other. The foppish fool had the gall to intrude where he was not welcome, and Erik regretted not killing him sooner. He had carefully developed Christine's talent, only to have her snatched away from him with less effort than a kiss. Christine, you are a cruel woman, Erik thought. Closing his eyes, he pictured her soft smile, her dark curls of hair – imagining his fingers running through the wavy strands. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, he thought brokenly. She belongs to another man now, and he had to keep reminding himself that it was his own choice. He had let her go, not because it was the right thing to do, but because it was the only thing he can do. When he had give her the choice to save the Vicomte, he had hope that she would choose to be with him of her own free will; he was still clinging to the hope that there is a part of Christine that does love him, even if she had shown that her affection lies elsewhere. He had hoped…Then she had chosen to save the Vicomte, and cut his heart to pieces in the process. His hope had shattered at her choice, and he had to let her go.

He had look into her eyes, and saw hatred and fear of him; but more than that, he saw an empty life ahead if he keep her. There will be no more smile on her face, there will not be companionable talk, there will be no understanding between them, there will be no tender moments, there will be no…love. Not then, not ever. What else can he do but to let her go? He might be a monster, but he will not take away a bright future from the woman he loves. She deserved to be treasure, to be happy, and he wants to give her that; if it means she will have those things from another man, so be it. He just hope that the saying 'time heal all wounds' is true, because right now, the only thing standing between him and the death he wished for was his promise to Madam Giry.

"Here are your tickets, Monsieur." The ticket manager said, giving him two slips of paper in the names of (something and something). He made the correct payment, and then some – for the trouble of not checking his credentials. Returning to Meg, he stopped short of standing right next to her, and observes her pensive expression.

"A franc for your thought." He said after a moment, when she did not registered that he was standing near her.

"Only a franc?" She smiled absently, still staring at the seagulls circling the ships' masts. "What can I get with a franc?"

"You want more?" Erik chuckled. "That depends on what you're thinking about."

"The sea, actually." She came as close to a slump as she possibly could without making it look like she's slumping. "Why England?"

"Surely you don't expect for this to blow over so easily?" If Madam Giry had taught her anything, Erik hoped that she taught Meg logics.

"Of course I don't." Meg said, affronted at the expression on his face. She is not a simpering chit. Most of the time, anyway. "But I was hoping we could move to another area instead of going across the channel."

"Come on, think of it as an adventure." Erik grinned. It was the first time in a long while that he was able to show his emotions, but then again, this is another role that he was playing. A role of ensuring that Meg have a bright future.

Meg gave him an unsure look, not really sure with how they will proceed. He appeared to have a plan, but he's not in a hurry to share it with her. That irks Meg, because she would at least like to know what he and her mother was talking about when they decided to take charge of her life. Seriously, she love her mother, but sometimes she think that mothers are not always right.

"I'm not sure about you, but I grew up here. I haven't been anywhere else."

Erik chuckles darkly at her bewildered confession. To be honest, he did not know much about any other places, just like her; but one thing that he does good is knowing how to gather information and put plans into motions. He had years to practiced it, and once he had a plan, he follows it to the letter. "Don't worry, little Meg." He smiled, patting her head. "I'll take care of you."


	3. Realization Dawn

The night was not the slightest chilly, yet Meg felt ice form around her heart. Little good that will do, he was already in her heart, and the only one hurting from the frostbite is her. A warm breeze blew across the window, stirring the thin curtains and caress her cheek; it was like Mother Nature is trying to warm her up, yet Meg only feel colder. She had been thinking, trying to make sense of the chaos in her head and to see what she could do about the confusion. The answers did show itself, but her feelings are torn: she can either be with him and bear the pain that he would never love her, or she can leave him - and her heart - to try and make a new life on her own. Both choices promise suffering. She had come to love him so deeply that the thought of leaving him was unbearable, but she know she cannot remain with him knowing he will love Christine until the day he die. At the beginning, she merely thought he was obsessed with Christine because he was fascinated with her talent, then he had told her that he love Christine, but she assumed that his feelings will fade after a while - because her mother had taught her that men are fickle, and Erik...he...Meg can't help but blushed as his naked body rose in her mind. He is so much a man. She should have know better. Erik would never be fickle. Meg did not know that hearts could break until she found out that Erik had - and still does - love Christine with his whole heart, and it seems he would continue to do so until his heart stop beating. It is evident every time he have that faraway look, the way he always keep _that ring_ close to him, and he would stare at the ring like it was part of his soul.

Meg crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, trying to ward off the coldness she's feeling. What can she do now? She wondered, leaning her head against the windowsill and let out a long sigh. Christine is still alive, happily married and with a child on the way, but her ghost is powerful. How does one fight against something that has no physical form? She had tried so hard to fight her feelings for him, tried so hard to not fall in love with him, and look where that had gotten her?

"A penny for your thought." As if summoned by her mind, he casually strode across the room toward her, his steps bold, like he own the room, the house, and the land - which he did, and it's as if they did not just exchanged heated words several hours ago.

Meg did not reply, opting to watch him walk the seven steps it took to stand next to her. He had changed his clothing - courtesy of her dumping the whole teapot on him before stalking off - into something more comfortable, and Meg silently cursed him even as she took in the way the dark green tunic stretch tight across his muscular chest, and that his trousers shows too much of his equally muscled legs. Damn it, the man spends half of his time glued to a desk pouring ink over papers, he should not...be so manly.

Erik crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side in a mocking imitation of her, and Meg's gaze rested on the white mask on his face. The original mask was destroyed by her earlier, though Meg knows he had spares and should have expected him to use them, yet it still irks her, especially when he is acting so nonchalantly, like it did not bother him that she had broken one of the memento he still keep of the past, nor that he had really listen to her words at all; though that strange glint in his eyes...

Knowing that she wouldn't understand that glint until he explain it to her, Meg didn't even bother trying. She pushed away from the window, and walk away without a word. She didn't stop when Erik muttered something like a curse word under his breath, nor did she stop when he called out her name. She made it to the door, but was forced to stop when the door slammed shut in front of her. She did not turn around, because the heat of his body was directly behind her, and his left armsleeve is just a hairbreadth from her face. He had slammed the door shut, and she could feel the anger radiates from him, but his breath so near her right ear is distracting her. For a moment, Meg yearned for him to wrap his arms around her, to pull her back into that strong chest, to kiss her cheek tenderly, to nibble at the side of her neck. She was not experience in that way, for crying out loud she had never even held a boy's hand, but she had live in a theater, and racy books are bound to passed around in such a setting, and her young mind certainly had no trouble picturing such a thing, especially when it's described in great details. She could almost feel the texture of his lips against her skin, his rough hands caressing her face, her shoulders, her breasts, and down below. She held her breath, imagining him touching her private area.

"Surely you can't still be mad." Erik's deep voice intruded into her fantasy, bringing her back to reality, but at the same time, arouses her. She closed her eyes and sigh, the blasted man. "Come on, Meg, talk to me."

"I did, you just don't listen." She reply, her voice was a mere whisper, but she had no doubt he heard her. To stop him from tempting her, she step away from him with he grace of an accomplished ballerina, and return to her place at the window, putting as much distance between them as this room would allow. He started to follow, but Meg put up both hands to stop him. Erik gritted his teeth, but he did not try to get closer to her again. After a moment of silent, his emotional mask fell into place, and he had the appearance of a cordial man. She knew better. She hated masks, and Erik wear more than one.

"What would you have me do?" He ask, his voice tight but show none of his real feelings.

She crossed her arms, ignoring him, staring at the flapping curtains like they're the most fascinating thing in the world.

"You can't demand me to give up the habits I've acquired." He tried again, preferring to the physical mask he's wearing.

So he choose to interpreted her meaning that way. Meg blew out the breath she didn't know she was holding. The damn stubborn man! "I can't imagine the rich and powerful Baron de Barbazac intend to give up anything." She muttered, and almost smile when he stiffen. She only call him by that name when she's furious.

"Damn it, Meg!" His fists clenched, and Meg supposed he would have like to wrap them around her throat, she had been an annoyance to him as of late. "What is it that you want from me?"

"I'll tell you." She said loudly, gaining his attention. "Actually, I will show you, but first, close your eyes."

His gaze on her was hard, and she could practically see the wheels in his head turns. He sighed after a minute, and closed his eyes. From the way his stand brace, she know he thought she was going to slap him, and she rolled her eyes. He clenched his fingers tighter as she approached, and she smile sadly, thinking it must have been very hard for his pride to do as she wish and ready to let her slap him if that's what she want. He treated her like a little child, to be indulged but never taken seriously. She put a hand on his shoulder, pulling herself higher, and his head turned a fraction of a millimeter, but instead of a hitting him like he expected her to, Meg pressed her lips against his. Her eyes were still open, watching as he shot opened his eyes in surprised and the stunned expression on his face. He stood frozen for exactly three seconds - she counted - before jumping backward. For once, Erik was not wearing a second mask, his face revealed his shock, and he looked like she slapped him with her full strength and he was not expecting it.

"What...What are you playing at?" He yelled at her, backing up a step before realizing what he did. He crossed his arms and gave her another hard look.

"Who said I was playing?" She schooled her face into a blank expression, but her eyes betrayed the pain she was feeling. He would never considered her in that light, and no doubt he would think this as another of her childish ploy. He did not prove her wrong.

"What else could it be, then?" He glares at her, and she sighed. "Stop acting like a spoiled kid!"

"I might be younger than you, Erik." She told him, moving toward the door. "However, I'm not a child, I'm not even your younger sister, so stop treating me thus."

Noting that he made no move to stop her, Meg opened the door and step out. She turned back to look at his bewilder expression. It was clear he truly thought of her as a sister until this moment. She sighed again, then left him to his thoughts. It was only fair that he should be as troubled as she was.


	4. Goodbye, Erik

"I can't make you believe what you don't want to believe." Meg said, tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I know that once you loved a person, you would love that person for life. I know there is no place for me in your heart, not the way I wanted."

Her eyes were full of pain, and Erik cringe to know he was the cause, he took a step toward her, but she held up her hand, silently pleading him to stop. He conceded to her wish.

"Please don't make this any harder than it already is, Erik, it is killing me to leave-"

"Then stay!" He said, his throat constricted. He was so used to seeing her when he come home, and he thought bleakly that the house would be so empty if she leave.

"I can't!" She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose. "It hurts too much to stay. I fooled myself into thinking it might get better, but it won't."

"What if there is a child?" He growled at her, grasping at straws.

"You did your best to prevent it, didn't you?" Her lips trembled, and tears did escaped her closed eyes. "You thought because I have never been with a man before, I wouldn't know."

Erik swallowed. Meg opened her eyes, looking more wounded as she read the truth on his face. Guilt shot through him at the accusation in her eyes. "If you remember correctly, there was times I...lost control." He fought down the guilt, it was not really his fault. He was only looking out for her, if only she understand that. He watched in satisfaction as colors crept on her face as she, too, remembered those times.

"I remember perfectly well that those times was when I mentioned Christine." Meg choked back a sob as another wave of pain washed over her. He had been livid when he heard about Christine's wedding, and Meg provoked him about his feelings for her. "I...I refused to be a stand in for her, I can't bear another night of...of you thinking about her when you..." She stopped, unable to speak the words.

"I never once thought about her when we were together!" He snapped. It was true, he might have been angry at the time, first at Christine's rejection, then Meg's insistent in bringing her up between them, but once he was in her arms, Meg was the only one in his mind. In fact, he is more...Startled, Erik wondered when he had stopped thinking about Christine, even now he is not feeling the hurt he once did, it was more about being rejected by a woman he had chosen. Confused, he looked to Meg, thinking that he would feel more about her loss now than Christine's.

"You was never a good liar." Meg turned back to her luggage, misreading his confusion. "At least I know I was right. I wish I wasn't." She whispered the last words with a deep breath, speaking to herself, but he heard it.

The coachman twisted his head to look at the Baron and Meg, and she took it as a cue to quickly climb into the coach.

"Johs, if this carriage move so much as half a turn, you're fired!" He shouted at the coachman, and Johs froze.

"Johs, ignore the Baron." Meg told him, but the poor man was sweating buckets under the hot glare of his employer.

"Damn it, Meg." Erik gripped the ledge of the carriage.

With an eerie calmness and a blank expression, Meg look squarely at Erik and said to him the words he never expected from her. "Erik, if you don't let me leave, I will kill myself."

Slack-jawed, Erik could only stare at Meg in shock, trying to see if she was serious. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes told him that she was not lying, or even joking. "Meg!" He protested, but she kept on looking at him.

He had known Meg for most of her life, and had thought he understand her, but now he was not sure of himself. The Meg he knew would never even consider of a demise by her own hands; though, through the times they were together, he found out that he knew Meg less than he thought. He wanted to call her bluff, but he doesn't want to risk it. Would Meg really follow through with her threat? She is determined and stubborn when she set her mind to something, but there have to be a line that even she wouldn't cross...Erik slammed his fist down against the ledge, and use curse words that would have made a sailor blush, but Meg did not even flinch.

"Johs, take her wherever she want to go!" He told the coachman, and heard a muffled prayer from the man.

"Goodbye, Erik." Meg said with a lifeless voice, but with a finality in it that brought a sick feeling to Erik's stomach. Letting go of the carriage, Erik watch as it rode away, wondering at the empty feeling in his chest that grew larger as the carriage gained distant.


End file.
